


If You Think You're Ready

by ellipsometry



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Creampie, Dirty Talk, Emotional Sex, Frenemies, Frenemies-to-Lovers, Light Bondage, M/M, Power Bottom, Power Bottom Kuroo, Restraints, Riding, daishou cries bc he's a little bitch, mika is a supportive ex-gf, some light degredation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: “Can you,” Kuroo swallows, eyes going hazy. “Say it again?”“You’re kidding,” Daishou sneers, reaching up to cup Kuroo’s face in his hand, teasing his thumb against the edge of his bottom lip, pulling it down until Kuroo is open-mouthed and panting. He’s only just come, but he feels himself go hard instantly, so aroused he’s almost dizzy with it. “God, you’re disgusting. Slut.”A shiver runs down Kuroo’s spine, violent enough that Daishou can feel it roil through him. His eyelashes flutter dangerously, eyes warm as honey.“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’ll do it.”Or, Daishou and Kuroo attempt to make nice.
Relationships: Daishou Suguru/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 11
Kudos: 115
Collections: Play Ball Zine Collection





	If You Think You're Ready

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to everyone who supported the zine, I was happy to be among so many other delicoius spicy works 👀👀
> 
> find me on twitter if you wish [@ellipsometry_](https://www.twiter.com/ellipsometry_)!

At first, there isn’t much talking. Which is a change, Daishou realizes, since Kuroo usually can’t keep his damn mouth shut, always finding new ways to get under Daishou’s skin, to poke and prod and agitate. They’re perversely compatible, in that way—Kuroo loves to press people’s buttons, and Daishou is nothing if not a human-shaped mess of buttons emblazoned with  _ DO NOT PRESS _ .

The first time it happens is after the second time Daishou and Mika break up. The train is delayed, it’s raining hard, and Daishou feels like a character from one of those dramas his mom likes so much when he ends up outside Kuroo’s apartment door, soaking wet and asking through gritted teeth for a place to stay the night.  _ Look what the cat dragged in _ _ ,  _ Kuroo says—and, realizing the accidental joke, grins so hard his eyes crinkle.

_ Oh _ _.  _ Daishou actually  _ missed _ him.

It only takes a hot shower and half a beer to get Daishou spilling his guts, trying to explain the hours-old breakup not just to Kuroo but to  _ himself _ , putting the puzzle of it together. “It’s not like... It’s not like I don’t care about her.” He makes a frustrated noise. “We spend time together, but that’s—that’s it.”

Kuroo has the audacity to  _ laugh _ , the bastard. Laugh, and then lean in a bit too close, close enough that Daishou can’t look at him without his eyes crossing. “So, you’re friends.”

“Yes, but—” Daishou’s eyebrows knit together. This is too much thinking to do after a long train ride, a messy breakup, and a miserable stroll in the rain. “And we still have sex.”

“So, friends with  _ benefits _ .” Closer now, until Daishou can feel the heat radiating off Kuroo’s body, some kind of low-grade fever.

“I don’t sleep with my friends.”

“With  _ benefits _ ,” Kuroo repeats, like he’s speaking to an idiot. “You’re kinda innocent, aren’t you?”

“Am not!” Daishou insists, about as mature as a playground bully, which— _ oh _ _.  _ Maybe he sees Kuroo’s point. “I’ve never had—I’ve never  _ not _ been with her.”

It’s always been like this: volleyball, more volleyball, and Mika. Those were the only things that could get his blood pumping, his heartbeat racing. The only other person Daishou ever remembers feeling so intense about is—

Well, Kuroo.

But Daishou doesn’t admit that. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches Kuroo circle him carefully, like a panther stalking its prey, lithe and careful, shoulders rolling as he pushes himself up on his palms and leans across Daishou’s lap. They’re barely touching, just a brush of Kuroo’s forearms against Daishou’s thigh, a tiny spot of electricity that has his hair standing on end.

“Well, you’ve never been curious?”

Kuroo’s lips are pink as cotton candy. Daishou swallows hard before opening his mouth, flicking a tongue against his bottom lip, watching Kuroo mirror the movement. And all his says is, “Maybe.”

Daishou doesn’t kiss him, but on the train home the next morning he wishes he did. But Daishou is nothing if not stubborn and single-minded—he ends up back in Tokyo the next month, back outside Kuroo’s door, finger hesitating on the doorbell.

_ You always held a weird candle for him, didn’t you? _ Mika tells him, trying to be encouraging even in the shaky, strange equilibrium they find. And no one knows him better than her, so. Maybe she’s right.

Kuroo answers the door before Daishou can even ring the bell. “Fancy meeting you here,” he says, leaning against the door frame.

“At your own home,” Daishou deadpans. “Look, do you want to be—what the hell did you call it? Friends with benefits? Yes or no.”

“Are we… I’m not sure we’re even friends.”

Leave it to Kuroo to linger on semantics. “Yes or no. Quickly.”

Kuroo’s face rearranges itself a few times—confusion, amusement, and intrigue flashing like a light show. Then, that usual smarmy look falls over his features.

“Honestly? I thought you’d never ask.”

+

The first lesson Daishou learns: Kuroo’s a biter. Bruises, bite marks, and deep-purple hickeys start to line Daishou’s neck, and it’s some kind of divine interference that the weather is starting to turn, that Daishou can cover the marks with a scarf or high-neck sweater. The first few times, at least, Kuroo focuses on his pulse point, nipping where he can feel the beat of Daishou’s heart trying to burst from his chest. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly Daishou comes with those clever fingers around his cock, stroking him with even, teasing tugs.

“Let me— _ shit _ —” Daishou makes a frustrated noise, fingers curling in the sheets, free hand trying to push Kuroo away, or roll him over, or get any kind of leverage. It’s a fight, everything’s  _ always _ a fight with him. It was stupid to think this would be any different.

“Stay still, you fuck—” Kuroo tries to twist away, but Daishou catches him, one arm around his waist, lunging forward to bite at the soft spot between his shoulder and neck, just hard enough to leave an imprint.

Except the reaction he gets isn’t ideal. “You’re cute, Suguru.”

“What—” Daishou frowns, pulling back sharply. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“You’re cute!” Kuroo repeats, as if that explains anything. “You’re sweet, you’re innocent.”

Daishou shoves at him, and Kuroo half rolls away, laughing under his breath. “Just because I’m not a  _ whore _ like you—”

Daishou stops, in part because it feels like he’s gone too far, spit something a bit too venomous. And, in part, because it looks like Kuroo _likes_ it.

“Can you,” Kuroo swallows, eyes going hazy. “Say it again?”

“You’re kidding,” Daishou sneers, reaching up to cup Kuroo’s face in his hand, teasing his thumb against the edge of his bottom lip, pulling it down until Kuroo is open-mouthed and panting. He’s only just come, but he feels himself go hard instantly, so aroused he’s almost dizzy with it. “God, you’re disgusting. Slut.”

A shiver runs down Kuroo’s spine, violent enough that Daishou can feel it roil through him. His eyelashes flutter dangerously, eyes warm as honey.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’ll do it.”

+

Daishou takes the high ground and plants his flag there, victorious. It’s easy to conquer unfamiliar territory when you’re the one in control, and Daishou spends more than his fair share of time exploring. Kuroo’s mouth, the way it falls open in silent screams when Daishou swallows him down; the cut of Kuroo’s abs, softened just slightly in the years since their peak, the way his skin goes slick with sweat; Kuroo’s cock, the way it bounces against his belly button when Daishou fucks him, leaving a sticky trail of precome behind.

It’s easy to conquer when you’re doing the exploring, when you’re not the one being explored. Daishou builds that cherished distance, and steps a comfortable arms-length away.

Except—

Except, Daishou keeps visiting, even when he doesn’t have a reason other than an urge to get his dick wet. And Kuroo keeps answering the door, keeps letting him in, keeps letting him spend the night. He drags Daishou from the couch to the bed, wrapping them both up in his massive comforter before Daishou can get a word in edgewise. He makes breakfast—or attempts to. And, when they both decide eating stale rice and expired natto isn’t ideal, Kuroo is the one who calls for takeout, and Kuroo is the one who pays. And once, just once, Kuroo kisses Daishou goodbye in the morning. Quick—so quick, Daishou wonders if he imagined it.

It all feels very… domestic.

Mika is seeing someone new. Daishou knows, because he gets the text as he’s leaving Kuroo’s on a foggy Sunday morning. Kuroo is handing him a takeout container full of leftovers.

“You coming back next weekend?”

_ what about you, seeing anyone?? I think you might be :0 _

“Uh,” Daishou frowns. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”

“Well,” Kuroo raps his knuckles against the doorframe. “You know where to find me.”

Daishou waits until he’s on the train to text Mika back. _maybe?_ he types, before deleting and sending a simple:

_ not really. _

+

Daishou’s first mistake is opening his mouth.

Kuroo is in a  _ mood _ , something sharp and sardonic, snapping at Daishou about every little thing. They can’t agree on what to order for dinner, what to watch while they eat, even where to have sex.  _ Always happy to be your second choice, Suguru _ , Kuroo finally deadpans, tossing a cup ramen from the cupboard to Daishou for him to heat up in the microwave. One deeply unsatisfying meal later, he finds Kuroo in the bedroom already, half-naked and stroking himself through his boxers, a bored look on his face.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

Kuroo doesn’t look up. “Nothing.”

Even with the tense atmosphere crackling between them, Daishou’s eye is still drawn to where Kuroo’s abs are tensing, the way his fingers draw over the obvious bulge in his briefs. Just two weeks away from one another is enough to have Daishou hungry for it, half-hard in his pants since the second he walked through the door, the promise of a warm mouth and Kuroo’s body soft and eager beneath him.

“Sit down,” Kuroo says suddenly, sliding off the bed. “And get undressed. Wait—reverse that order.”

“Fine,” Daishou huffs, shedding his clothes unceremoniously until he’s left just in his underwear. “And then you’re going to tell me why you’re being such an asshole today.”

Kuroo snorts, grabbing something from his dresser. “Can dish it but you can’t take it, huh?”

“I’m serious,” Daishou repeats—though the way he’s tenting in his boxers isn’t exactly helping his case.  _ Fuck _ , it’s basically Pavlovian at this point.

“So am I,” Kuroo turns around, familiar shit-eating grin on his face. “Get on the bed.”

“No.”

“Suguru,” Kuroo repeats, deadly serious. “Get on the fucking bed.”

He could tap out—easily. Daishou could leave, any time. But the black hole pull of Kuroo’s eyes is keeping him stuck, moving like he’s on puppet strings, laying back on the bed without complaint.

Kuroo just smiles, something small and satisfied, and pulls out what he’s been hiding behind his back: a long silk tie, one Daishou would ordinarily be the one tugging on, loosening so he can get at the soft bit of skin at the base of Kuroo’s neck, where he likes to leave a necklace of marks that peek over the collar of his crisp white shirts. Kuroo whips the tie around with a couple flicks of his wrist, and unceremoniously tugs his briefs down, his dick bouncing up against his torso, half-hard.

One tiny  _ fuck _ slips from Daishou’s mouth as Kuroo kneels on the bed. He’s all lean sinewed limbs and flushed pink skin, always so feline, so careful in the way he stalks Daishou. Like he’s just some kind of prey.

“Be good,” Kuroo mumbles, straddling Daishou’s waist and reaching for his hands. He pulls Daishou’s arms up over his head, and carefully weaves the tie around his wrists, latching them to the bedframe—not too tight, not too loose. “Do what I say and I might even let you come.”

Daishou snorts, “Don’t think you can actually control that.”

“Can’t I?” Kuroo sits down on Daishou’s lap, leaning all his weight on his obvious erection, the way it curves through his boxers.

_Oh._ He wants a challenge. He _misses_ a challenge.

Daishou bucks his hips up, starling a small moan out of Kuroo.

“I dare you to try.”

+

If Daishou’s first mistake is opening his mouth, it’s also his second, third, and fourth mistake.

Kuroo loves a challenge, loves to tease and poke and prod, and he’s gotten a bit too good at taking Daishou apart, at finding that loose thread and tugging until Daishou unravels. He knows the sensitive spot under the head of Daishou’s cock, knows how to trace it with his tongue until Daishou is writhing; he’s clever with his fingers, tracing the rim of Daishou’s hole, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb against it, the dirty promise of it. He knows how much Daishou loves to do the same to him, to fuck Kuroo with his fingers and stretch him open.

So, this time, he makes him watch, helpless where he’s tied up against the headboard.

“Please, c’mon,” Daishou tugs at the ties on his wrists. He’s out of breath like he’s just played a five-set match, flushed all the way down to his belly button. “Tetsu—”

“Nope,” Kuroo interrupts, remarkably composed considering he’s fucking himself on his hand, back arched away from Daishou so he can’t see. “You asked for it.”

Daishou lets out a whine, something petulant and childlike, and kicks his feet against the mattress. His cock is so hard it’s almost going purple, precome dripping down the shaft and pooling against heated skin. He feels too big for his own body, restless and itchy all over. Kuroo’s propped up on all fours, hovering over Daishou as he opens himself up, and every small hitch and whine as his breath catches in his throat has Daishou’s temperature spiking.

“No whining,” Kuroo teases, finally— _ finally _ —hiking his hips up so he can hover over Daishou’s neglected dick, the head of it bumping up against where Kuroo’s hole is soft and wet. Kuroo lets it slide between his ass, drag dirty and hot against him. And just when Daishou thinks he’s going to come right then and there, Kuroo finally sinks down, a sharp, sudden movement that punches all the air from his lungs.

“S-See, I don’t even really need you,” Kuroo manages a wobbly smile, starting to bounce further down on Daishou’s dick, hole swallowing him inch by inch. “Just stay still and— _ hahh _ —be good.”

“Shut up,” Daishou mutters. “Weren’t you the one who called me in the middle of the week because you couldn’t get off without my voice?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Kuroo sniffs—but he’s fully seated now, and no matter how many times they do this, it never stops taking him a moment to adjust, hole fluttering around Daishou’s length, his breath coming in shaking pants. They never actually turned the lamp on, and the light filtering in through the blinds paints them in a mixture of blue and purple, colors of a world gone quiet after sunset.

Kuroo looks beautiful. And as soon as Daishou thinks it, he can’t seem to unsee it.

“You’re so—” he almost says it, almost gives away the whole game. “ _ Fuck _ , you feel good.”

“Tight for a slut, right?” Kuroo laughs, bracing himself against the bed, settling down and splaying his thighs that tiny bit wider. He looks obscene like this, like something from one of Daishou’s better wet dreams.

And once Kuroo gets going, he can’t stop, can’t seem to control himself. His hips move before he can even think, and a heedless heat fills up the room, air going thick and humid as he moves, eyes squeezed shut and head tipped back. Daishou tries to fuck his hips up, to meet the downward fall of Kuroo’s hips, but it’s impossible to keep up. Kuroo rides him like a man possessed, thighs tensed and shaking.

“Aren’t you— _ fuck _ ,” Daishou bites his lip hard enough to draw blood when Kuroo drops down hard and  _ stays _ , grinding down, trying to get Daishou’s cock that impossible bit deeper, hole flexing around him. “Aren’t you tired? D— _ ah, fuck _ —I could help, you know.”

Kuroo laughs, just a breathy thing, and swallows a whine. “Nice try, b-but I can get off without you.” He slides a hand up Daishou’s chest, thumb rolling across his nipple, pert and hard even in the warm air. “Just a fun toy for me to—to fuck myself with.”

Daishou can’t help the moan that punches from his throat. Just a toy, just something to be used. No expectations, no responsibilities, no regrets—he could get used to it.

“You know,” Daishou manages, sliding his heels up the bed until he can fold his legs, gain that small bit of space to buck up into Kuroo. “Your point kind of loses its edge when you can barely hold yourself up. Whores should be better at this.”

“Shut up,” Kuroo slurs, drool dripping from the side of his mouth as he bounces in Daishou’s lap, cock slapping between his stomach and Daishou’s. He falls forward, bracing one forearm on each side of Daishou’s head, caging him in against the mattress.

“Compelling argument,” Daishou breathes. The last string of his self-control is about to snap—it’s a fight to keep his eyes open, but he wants to see this, wants to see every second of Kuroo falling apart. It’s everything he wanted, isn’t it? To see his rival torn down, to see him drooling and crying and whining. Daishou thought he would feel victorious, but he feels—fond, maybe. Fond, and fiercely so; like something’s hollowed out a spot in his chest and made its home there.

_ Ah, fuck _ . Daishou kind of loves him.

“D—Sugu-Suguru—” Kuroo’s babbling now, bangs falling into his eyes, hair sticking to his neck and forehead from the sweat, mouth bitten red and dropped open. “Fuck me, fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ _ — _ ”

Daishou can’t figure out what to say. Not that he was ever great at the kind of dirty talk that gets Kuroo going, but now he can’t seem to think of anything to say but  _ I love you, I love you, I love you. _

He kisses him, and Kuroo kisses back with a surge, slowing the movement of his hips to a grind, deep and satisfying. Kuroo bites at Daishou’s open mouth, traces the shape of his tongue, breathes in the humid air between them.

“I-I was stupid to—” he starts, whispering against Daishou’s lips, a half-formed thought. “I want your—your hands on me.”

“Next time,” Daishou manages, voice thick and hoarse.

They stay like that for a while, frantic fuck slowing down until Kuroo is almost sliding himself across Daishou’s body, fucking himself back on his cock as deep as it will go and staying there, his hole greedy as it milks Daishou for all he’s worth. Kuroo’s orgasm comes on slowly too, a violent shiver that rolls down his body until he’s trembling, come dripping from his cock in thick, viscous spurts.

“You—”

“Inside,” Kuroo begs, fingernails scratching at Daishou’s chest, leaving small pink trails behind. “Inside me, come inside. Use me, c’mon.”

It feels like a shot of lightning when Daishou comes, something that starts at the base of his spine and shoots up his body, making every hair stand on end. And under any other circumstance, Daishou would be mortified of the way he  _ wails _ _ , _ head thrown back so hard it hits the bed frame. His balls pull up tight against his body, his cock twitches where he’s still buried deep inside Kuroo, and he comes; filling him, claiming him. Some strange, primal feeling blooms in his chest. Something protective, nestled right up against that fondness.

And when he finally comes down, when he finally stops shaking—the fondness is still there. Those words are still rattling around his brain.

Kuroo slumps down, seemingly unbothered that Daishou is still buried half-inside him as he starts to go soft. It feels nice, almost, to still be close. Just a wiggle of his wrists, and Daishou feels the stretched-thin fabric of Kuroo’s tie come loose from his wrists. Funny, that. How easily he could have escaped the whole time. Almost like he’d rather stay under Kuroo’s spell.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“We should shower.”

Kuroo makes a noise, finally rolling over to lay against Daishou’s side. “Don’t wanna. Too tired.”

Daishou tries not to think about what Kuroo’s ass must look like right now, puffy and red and used, hole leaking come. “Whatever, I’m not your mother.” But Daishou doesn’t make a move to leave either. In fact, he reaches for Kuroo, pulls him back in against his chest.

Kuroo goes still, spine pin-straight. “Are you… cuddling?”

“I’m—” Daishou goes to pull his arms back immediately, face hot with embarrassment. Fucking is one thing, sure, but  _ affection _ is something different entirely. And all the words he’s been swallowing down threatening to come back up like vomit.

“Oh my god, you’re actually a cuddler, aren’t you?” Kuroo sounds  _ delighted _ at his new discovery. “You wanna cuddle! With me!”

Daishou doesn’t dignify that with an answer other than to pull Kuroo closer, bumping his forehead against the broad plane of Kuroo’s back.

They stay like that for a while, sweaty and gross and together. Finally, Kuroo hums, a small, thoughtful noise. “You know,” he starts, voice going soft. “I’m kind of tired of pretending we still hate each other.”

There’s no way Kuroo can’t feel Daishou’s heartbeat rattling in his chest. “I wasn’t, uh. I wasn’t really pretending anymore. It’s just that—”

“You’re a dick?”

“Yeah,” Daishou laughs. “I’m kind of a dick.”

Kuroo’s ugly snort of a laugh sends another wave of fondness crashing through Daishou, and he squeezes him around the middle.

“You know,” Kuroo starts, settling back into Daishou’s hold. He’s craning his neck to try and face him, but his hair keeps flopping in his eyes in a way that makes Daishou’s throat go tight. “I could come visit you too, you know.”

“… Maybe. If you want. You don’t have to—but, I mean, you could.”  _ Smooth, very fucking smooth _ .

Kuroo’s eyes light up, “I could come to one of your games!”

“No, absolutely not.”

“I’ll bring a big sign for you.”

“ _ No. _ ”

Kuroo snickers, wriggling around in Daishou’s arms until they’re finally face to face. After all these years, finally seeing each other. “I’m going to bring a sign, and it’s going to have a bunch of hearts, and I’m going to scream— _ kyaa!! Suguru-kun is so cool! _ _ ” _

“Unbelievable,” Daishou tries his best to frown, but the corners of his mouth keep twitching up. “I changed my mind I’m breaking up with you.”

_ Oops. _ Probably wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. Kuroo goes still again, an unreadable expression folding and unfolding across his face, pupils blow wide in the dark.

“Are we… together?”

“We are,” Daishou’s mouth goes dry. “Well, we’re something. Right?”

“Right,” Kuroo repeats. “Something.”

It’s not everything; it’s not an answer. It’s a bit complicated and a lot messy. Daishou thinks of the years of resentment packed tight inside him and wonders if it could really be this easy, if that burst of light and fondness could dissolve it so quickly. The look on Kuroo’s face—fondness, Daishou recognizes—says he feels the same.

Like a promise— _ something _ _. _

Whatever it is, they’ll figure it out together.

+

_ so, mikachan, uh  _ _ (00:12) _ _  
_ _ you were right. I actually am seeing someone  _ _ (00:12) _

_ ha! I knew it!! _ _ (00:23) _ _  
_ _ I’m always right _ _ (00:23) _

_ I should probably know better than to doubt you  _ _ (00:25) _

_ Well, you seemed really happy lately  _ _ (00:27) _ _  
_ _ And I’m really happy for you. Honest.  _ _ (00:28) _

_ I am  _ _ (00:31) _ _  
_ _ happy, I mean  _ _ (00:31) _ _  
_ _ I’m really happy, actually  _ _ (00:32) _

_ I’m glad!! and um  _ _ (00:41) _ __  
_ tell Tetsurou-kun hello for me, okay?  _ _ (00:41) _ _  
_ _ 😊 😊 😊  _ __ (00.42)


End file.
